Rapid Eye Movement
by LittlePippin76
Summary: A collection of drabbles based, for no real reason, on song titles. NOTE: There will be S2 spoilers, sorry; I'm finding it difficult to un-see.
1. Man on the Moon

Man on The Moon.

"The what?"

"The moon-landings."

"What did they land there?"

"People. Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin were first, but there have been loads since."

"Define 'loads'."

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe twenty."

Sherlock glared. John sighed.

"I'll look it up. OK, twelve."

"That's not loads."

"It's twelve more than could possibly have been imagined a hundred years ago, and I believe it's mankind's greatest achievement."

"To date."

"Yes."

Sherlock looked through the window at the shining, white orb.

"People are strange," he remarked.

"I concur," John softly replied.


	2. Orange Crush

Orange Crush.

"God, Sherlock, look at the sunset! It's incredible!"

"Sun_rise_, John. It's morning."

"But it so _orange_! It looks psychotic!"

"The _sunrise_ looks _psychotic_?"

"Yeah. It's just so _orange. _It's like all the orange in the world. And some pink."

Sherlock glanced out of the window and then up at his friend.

"When did you last sleep, John?"

"I don't know. What day is it?"

"Wednesday. I think."

"Did we finish the case yet?"

Sherlock smiled. "Yes. It's all done, John. Go to bed now."

Sherlock turned back to his computer.


	3. Bad Day

Bad Day.

"But he just doesn't think! And he's so selfish!"

"I know, dear."

"And yes, I'll admit, it was probably a little over the top, but I wasn't in the mood, and I've had just about enough of him!"

"I understand."

"If it wasn't enough that I'd had the _worst_ day at work, a job he completely undervalues by the way, but it's _important_! People need me!"

"Of course they do."

"So I just wasn't in the mood for him right then."

"I know."

"I should probably go and apologise, shouldn't I."


	4. Everybody Hurts

Everbody Hurts.

He hadn't anticipated the pain. It was odd, he thought in an abstract way, that he hadn't anticipated it. He was clever, he was _very_ clever, so he ought to have realised that his actions _then_ would result in this feeling _now._

He licked his swollen and bloodied lip, and winced as he felt John cleaning the jagged tear just below his hairline. He registered that John was saying soothing things but he couldn't quite make out the words.

He felt the cold needle go into his arm and his thoughts became even less lucid. He welcomed the following sleep.


	5. All the Right Friends

All The Right Friends.

"I love you, John!"

"I know you do. Go back to sleep."

"No, but I love you. You're the best friend _ever."_

"I know. Go to sleep."

"You make me... You made me feel better."

"Yes. I do that. I'm a doctor."

"I love you, John."

"I love you too, Sherlock. Now, sleep."

"You're the very best."

"Do you need more drugs? Because I have more drugs."

"I love you, John."

"Yeah. Tell me when you're better."

"No. I'll be back to normal then."

"Define 'normal'."


	6. Losing My Religion

Losing My Religion.

'Please, God, let me live.'

Sherlock pondered the words as he lay in bed, just able to hear the soft snores of his new flatmate in the next room.

Did John really believe in God, or were they just the words of a desperate, frightened, dying man?

Had he been in real danger himself tonight? Probably not, he decided. But if he had have been, who would he have cried out to in desperation and fear? God certainly wasn't a likely candidate. He preferred his heroes corporeal.

Did he need anyone but himself? He was beginning to suspect he did.


	7. At My Most Beautiful

At My Most Beautiful.

"Do you think you're attractive?"

"Do I what?"

"Do you think you're good looking?"

"Where the hell did that question come from? Have you been drinking?"

"No! Well, yes, but I'm not drunk. There was just this ad on. Most people put themselves on a scale, either accurately or not, so, do you think you're good looking?"

A pause.

"When I'm working, I'm probably passable."

"And the rest of the time?"

"The rest of the time's irrelevant."

"Huh."

"Huh what?"

"Nothing."

"What about you?"

"I'm a four."

* * *

**People, being an uninspired soul, I'm looking for prompts. If you can think of two song titles that I can use as a prompt, I'd be grateful if you could send them my way. Doesn't have to be REM, but I'd prefer two from the same artist, and the songs themselves are less relevant than the titles (for this, not in real life).**

**Alternatively, if you just want to fling duos of words or phrases my way, that would actually work just as well.**


	8. After the Storm

**Thank you for all prompts! Though I have to admit to feeling old when I hear all these band names I've never heard of! I am really grateful for all of them!  
**

**Like I said, the part that interests me is the words in the titles at the moment, so please don't be upset or offended if the tone or nature of the piece doesn't match up to the song tone or lyrics. The chances are, I won't have heard the track and I'd rather not listen to it before I write so that I'm not distracted from the title. I might listen afterwards, just 'cos.**

**First up, prompt from Irene Norton: Two from Mumford and Sons (band will come up again, apparently, they're popular).**

After The Storm.

He walks the streets as soon as possible after a storm, when the smell is still intense and the pavements are crunchy and damp.

The noise of the storm aggravates him, causing flashbacks to other times full of unpredictable noise and flashing lights. He prefers to experience it alone, so he can grow tense and grab his arms or feet without being observed.

But when it's over, he'll be out with a lightness in his step and peace in his heart. He's witnessed storms throughout the world, but the smell of _London_ after a storm is the smell of joy.


	9. Little Lion Man

Little Lion Man

"Stop mocking me!"

"No. It's fun!"

"It really hurts!"

"Aw. Diddums."

"Stop it! You're a _doctor!_ This is extremely unprofessional!"

"A, I'm not _your_ doctor, two, I'm not at work, and also, I really don't care."

"What if it's broken? I think it's broken."

"Move the peas. Yep, that looks broken!"

"Then fix it!"

"You stubbed your toe, Sherlock. You'll live."

"But it _hurts!_"

"Fine. Hold still. No _still_."

"What's that? It's got _animals_ on it!"

"Sorry. Do you want me to change it?"

"No."


	10. Use Somebody

**Two up from AssassinOfRome from Kings of Leon.**

Use Somebody.

Sherlock stood very still in the shadow of the building. He was conscious of John's presence behind him. He knew John wouldn't shoot until he was absolutely certain he wouldn't hit the hostage. He started looking for an alternative plan.

The boy in Carlton's grasp looked terrified. He was stretched beyond his comfort zone, barely able to reach his feet to the ground. He was crying.

John shot. Carlton fell. Sherlock exhaled.

It wasn't a kill shot, the bullet hit the high in the shoulder, injuring, debilitating, immobilising. Sherlock allowed himself two seconds to register the certainty of John's aim.


	11. Sex is on Fire

Sex is on Fire.

"So you won't see her again."

"I might!"

"No. You won't."

"Whatever."

"The sex was bad."

"What?"

"Your goal in these escapades is ultimately sexual, and when you obtain sex you return to the same source repeatedly. You had sex with Donna, but you won't be seeing her again. Conclusion; the sex was unsatisfactory."

"No, it wasn't!"

"It's just an observation."

"Actually, the sex was brilliant!"

"Really?"

"_Extremely_ good. Wild. Exciting. _Hot_."

"So what happened?"

"At the fifteenth text, she decided my flatmate was too clingy."


	12. Creeping up the backstairs

**An anonymous review, simply titled 'Five Prompts' requested this one from the Fratellis. The next Chapter is a second track from them to make up the pair, but authors choice (so I made it easy).**

Creeping up the backstairs.

He opened his eyes and watched the headlights of passing cars track across the ceiling. John had come home and that had woken him. There was no talking, or worse, _giggling_, or extra footsteps. Just John, ascending with an uneven, heavy tread.

He was trying to be quiet. Not because he didn't want to be discovered, just because he didn't want to disturb a rare slumber. He was thoughtful, even when he was drunk.

There was a sudden thud and a torrent of expletives, ending with John 'shh-ing' himself. Sherlock grinned, and then turned over and went back to sleep.


	13. Milk and Money

Milk and Money.

"Is there any milk?"

"What?"

"Milk. Have we got any?"

"Why are you bothering me with such trivialities?"

"Is that a no?"

_Silence. Checking._

"There's no milk. I'll go and get some, _again._"

"Fine."

"Do you need anything else?"

"Silence."

"Nice."

_Silence. Embarrassment._

"The thing is..."

"Take my wallet."

"Where is it?"

"Do I have to know _everything?_"

"Where did you have it last?"

"Taxi. Oh yes, try the washing machine."

"Got it. I'll be back in ten minutes."

"Good. Bring food."


	14. Bitter Sweet Symphony

**Staceuo, asking for a pair from The Verve (I've heard these ones!).**

Bitter Sweet Symphony.

He played quietly with deference to the fact that John was asleep on the sofa. He allowed himself a moment of pride that John _was_ asleep. He'd been complaining for several days that he couldn't sleep. He'd looked increasingly weary and nervous at bedtime. For several nights Sherlock had gone to bed first, which was pretty much unheard of.

So when John had put his feet up, Sherlock had just started playing, low and gently. It was improvised but he was borrowing phrases from Bach and Vivaldi and Barber. Mostly it was just what he was feeling; concern and respect.


	15. The Drugs Don't Work

The Drugs Don't Work.

"I need paracetamol."

"You don't."

"I've got a headache."

"It's a symptom. You're dehydrated and need water. Your blood sugar's low, so you need food, and you're sleep deprived so you need, well, sleep."

"Give me the sodding pills."

"If you want paracetamol, go and buy your own."

"For the love of God!"

"If I give you the pills, will you drink, eat and sleep?"

"Please, John!"

"Fine. Here. Just drink and eat something too."

"I hate living with a doctor."

"Yeah, well, you're an absolute joy too."


	16. Don't Carry it All

**Two up prompted by Cacodaemonia from the Decemberists.**

Don't Carry it All.

He looked to the other end of the wire. There was John, squatting in the shadow, mirroring Sherlock's position at the other side of the hall. He didn't look towards Sherlock. He knew where everyone in the team was, he knew everyone's individual responsibility. He was focussed on his own task. He didn't question that his parter, Sherlock, would do exactly what he was required to do. He was the master of teamwork.

Sherlock knew it was his own worst quality. But he also knew that sometimes it was invaluable having someone with you, on whom you could completely rely.


	17. Here I dreamt I was an Architect

Here I Dreamt I Was an Architect.

"What's the weirdest dream you remember having?"

"Where do these questions come from?"

"From my head."

"We need to find something more productive to do with your head."

"No, come on. Weird dreams."

"I can't remember any."

"No, you must! There must be one where you woke up, thinking 'what was _that_ about?'"

"I don't analyse dreams."

"But _one._"

"Once, at school, I dreamt Mycroft was chasing me around Aunt Hetty's house with a pink rabbit on a fishing rod. Good. Now when you've quite finished laughing, I want tea."


	18. Liar, liar

**Prompted by Sweetnessandcharades, from A Fine Frenzy (first is authors choice, second was the prompt).**

Liar, Liar.

He was never disappointed when people lied. It didn't surprise him or upset him. In some ways he could see the logic of attempting to cover a transgression, particularly in cases where the original crime was worse than a lie. On occasion, it amused him to see someone panic and babble a series of obvious untruths. Sometimes he felt something akin to respect if someone was both calm and plausible.

But other than these rare cases, he was never moved by people lying.

But when John said 'There's nothing wrong, I'm fine.' he found he was surprised, disappointed and upset.


	19. Bird of the Summer

Bird of the Summer.

"It's too hot!"

"It's glorious, stop complaining."

"I'm sticking to the sofa."

"Clothing would resolve that."

"Then I'd be hotter."

"Light clothing. Loose clothing."

"I don't have light or loose clothing."

"Wear pyjamas."

"I don't want to."

"You always wear pyjamas!"

"I don't want to _today._"

"Borrow something of mine."

"I'd rather die."

"Thanks."

"It's so _hot!_"

"It's a lovely summer's day. Normal people are enjoying it. _ I'm _enjoying it."

"You're stupid."

"Yeah. I'm not naked and stuck to a sofa though."

**Thanks again for the wonderful prompts! I'm still working my way through them! Thanks also for the reviews. I'm having a wonderful time with these, so I'm glad to know other people are enjoying them too!**


	20. Sex

**MyriadProBold declined to prompt from a band, but challenged me with the words 'Hot' and 'Sex'. Dear lovely peeps, you will not trick me on to slash on this fic. (I'm an avid slash supporter, but until Sherlock and John get it on on-screen, it won't happen **_**here**_**. I'll write it elsewhere.) Anyhow, a prompt is a prompt and Myriad has been such a valued supporter, so here we go.**

Sex.

There was a clear pattern. There would be weeks of decline, more snapping than usual, morose moods, and decreasing helpfulness. Eventually there would be barbed comments and escalating sarcasm.

Then there would be a date, occasionally several dates, and all of a sudden John would return smelling differently and but acting normally.

He'd considered all the relevant factors, made several equations, and decided that if John required regular sex then it might be worth sacrificing a few hours of his company every now and again.

What he couldn't understand was why his suggestion of a prostitute was rebuffed so vehemently.


	21. Hot

Hot.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing. It's just flu. Go away."

"Why are you shivering?"

"I have a fever. Go away."

"But a fever makes you hot."

"Yes. It makes the room feel cold. _Please_ go away."

"You look disgusting."

"Sherlock? Are you going to say or do something helpful? If not, go away."

"I need prior warning if you're going to vomit again."

"Why?"

"I'd prefer to know in advance."

"Sod off."

"You don't need to be rude!"

"Prior warning for _you_ isn't high on my priorities. Now go away."

"Fine. Wait, I remember. 'Do you need anything?'"

"Yes. Privacy."


	22. The Cave

**Sorry for the short break in service with this one! I am aware that there are prompts I haven't answered yet, and I'm hoping to be back to a pair a day.**

**These were prompted by SherlockLover, from Mumford and Sons.**

The Cave

Every now and then, though rarely these days, he'd dream about it again. The narrow entrance, a squeeze to get himself and his bag inside. The maze of tunnels leading who-knows-where. The lonely search in the torchlight.

Then the terrified family, crouching, hiding in the dark. Cowering away from his presence. The two sons, the daughter, the pregnant, labouring mother.

The haemorrhage. The baby, blue, but alive. The sudden sound of shelling outside. Men's voices approaching. The panic.

Then he'd wake up and hear Sherlock, who was utterly London, pottering about the flat and he'd forget the cave almost instantly.


	23. Winter Wind

Winter Wind

"It's so cold!"

"Yes, it's Winter."

"But it's _so_ cold!"

"One of the main features of Winter, that is."

"I hate the cold."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"What do you mean?"

"So far this year, the Summer was too hot, the Autumn too leafy, the Spring was too _tweety_. And now the Winter is too cold. I'm very sorry that the World doesn't meet your exacting standards."

"Don't say it like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm a grumpy, complaining grouch."

"You _are_ a grumpy, complaining grouch."

"I quite liked May."

"Good. I'll look forward to the next one then."


	24. The Burn

**Apologies for spamming your mailboxes. I haven't written for three days so today I find I'm a bit… writey. There will probably be two more tonight.**

**These are for the lovely Katkin. Anything from Matchbox 20.**

The Burn.

It wasn't an instant thing. It always started slowly and calmly, as if it was building from far away.

His mind would go first. His thoughts tasting anything they could find, easing their way into dark corners, usually abandoning their finds as dull.

Then it would hit his feet. His toes would curl, his soles would itch. Slowly, the rest of the muscles in this body would become tense. Locked. Prepared. Needing somewhere to be.

In the end it was all-consuming. Every part of him utterly desperate for something to do. Suffocating and overwhelming him.

John would watch him, concerned.


	25. Busted

Busted.

"Sherlock, have you seen my wallet?"

"No."

"Are you sure? I think I left it on the kitchen table."

"Haven't seen it."

"Do you think you could help me look? I've got to go out."

"Take my card."

"No, I need my wallet. I'm sure it was here somewhere."

"You must be wrong."

"I don't mean to sound accusing, but are you absolutely sure that you haven't seen it somewhere?"

"I wouldn't steal from you!"

"I know that! That wasn't what I… Oh never mind. Oh! Here it is! What's it doing there? Jesus! Sherlock!"

"It was _clearly_ an accident!"


	26. Money for Nothing

**So, having hounded MattsLoved1 for a prompt, I rudely selected just one of her songs and added one of my own to match it.**

**Still, **_**technically**_** these two are for MattsLoved1. From Dire Straits.**

Money for Nothing.

John had explained that if you've got a rare skill, you can sell it for pretty much whatever you want to charge. He understood the economics of it, but it was still irrelevant when it came to taking or declining a job.

He left the financial arrangements to John. John would give a realistic value of Sherlock's time (slightly varied, client to client), and as long as Sherlock had the final say, the arrangement worked well.

But at the end of the day it was all one. It still felt as though he was being paid just to have fun.


	27. Brothers in Arms

Brothers in Arms

"_Please_ can I have a turn?"

"No!"

"Why not?"

"We've been over and over this! It's not a toy! Besides, you can't shoot straight!"

"I can! Remember the smiley face?"

"I remember five shots on target and _nineteen_ randomly over the wall, including one that went through your dressing-gown."

"I've been practising!"

"Well you shouldn't have been!"

"So, I'm not allowed a turn because I can't shoot straight, but I'm not allowed to practise either?"

"Yes! That's exactly right! Well done!"

"I wasn't agreeing! I was complaining!"

"I _know_!"

"I'll tell Lestrade you've got an unlicensed gun."

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing."


	28. Stout

**Two random prompts from Beta-extraordinaire GoldVermilion87.**

Stout

He didn't bother to compare himself to other people. He knew that there was nothing wrong with him. He was average in regard to both height and weight. He was stronger and faster than some. He was healthier than a lot of people. It was utterly irrelevant to _him_ that Sherlock just happened to be taller and positively slender without having to work for it at all. Completely irrelevant.

So he hadn't intended to respond quite so aggressively when Sherlock used the descriptor 'stout' about him.

Weeks later, he'd realised that Sherlock hadn't meant that sort of stout at all.


	29. TeaPot

Tea-pot.

"Are you making tea?"

"I could do."

"Do it properly then, and use my tea-pot."

"You don't have a tea-pot."

"Yes I do."

"Your _coffee-pot_ you mean?"

"It's a tea-pot! Nobody uses coffee-pots anymore!"

"Some people do. They use them, inexplicably, for making tea."

"It's a tea-pot!"

"Tea-pots are, as the saying goes, short and stout. They're rounded to allow the tea-leaves to circulate. Not tea-bags, tea-_leaves._ Steep in the pot for five minutes, pour through a tea-strainer."

"And the milk goes in…"

"Last, naturally."

"I'm impressed, John! I bow to your superior knowledge of tea!"

"Good."

"Wait! Where's mine?"


	30. Tears of an Angel

**Prompted by Laced-with-fire, from RyanDan.**

Tears of an angel.

She was beautiful, with her high cheekbones, pale skin, and her large blue eyes with a hint of feline slant. Her lips so red and such white teeth. She was getting a reaction from everyone else in the room. Even John. Especially John.

Her eyes filled and several people fussed, offering her tissues and fetching water. There was the smallest frown creasing her brow. The tears tracking down her cheek were wiped away with a long, elegant finger.

He wondered if he'd be more moved by the scene if he hadn't known that she'd murdered her cousin just hours before.


	31. The Face

The Face

"You know what I think?"

"Probably."

"Fine, guess."

"No."

"So you know what I think?"

"I think you're going to ask me that question until I let you answer."

"I don't need permission."

"You're very annoying after you drink beer."

"Annoying?"

"Yes."

"Well, you know what I think?"

"Oh please, just tell me. Tell me what gems of wisdom have formed in that brain of yours! Please!"

"I reckon the Moriarty we met was just a face for a larger organisation. I reckon 'Moriarty' isn't _Moriarty_."

"Oh. Actually, that's quite clever."

"Thanks."

"Don't do quotes with your fingers. It's silly."


	32. Somewhere in the Between

**Another couple prompted by the Anonymous and Mysterious 'Five Prompts'. This time I'm breaking from form and doing two from different artists. I could argue that there's no real need for two from the same, but really, it's just because I'm lazy to look up another song from either.**

Somewhere In the Between (Streetlight Manifesto)

Sometimes he only half woke, stumbling into a dream state, aware of what he was doing but completely unable to explain it or to stop. Sometimes it was as if he was acting out dreams, other times it was more that he was acting out wakefulness. It usually happened the first night after a period without sleep.

The first time he realised John had seen him he'd been annoyed. He felt that he'd shown a weakness. After a while he just became pleased that there was someone to stop him doing something silly. Like setting fire to the curtains. Again.


	33. Eighth Station of the Cross Kebab Shop

The Eighth Station of the Cross Kebab Shop (Belle and Sebastian).

"Will you be much longer?"

"He's doing mine now."

"Christ! What animal did that _thing_ come from?"

"It's best not to think about it."

"It looks like several different animals which they've then mashed together, stuck on a stick, and rotated next to that lamp for an indefinite period while they hack bits off!"

"Thanks, Sherlock."

"I should let you know it really doesn't seem sanitary."

"OK."

"It must be a playground for all sorts of bacteria."

"I've had tonnes of these, and I'm still alive."

"How?"

"It's just food."

"That's not food. That's… waste-products."

"Thanks."

"Well, enjoy your meal."


	34. Weird Fishes

**First off – sorry for being quiet. I had hoped to get another whole fic up this weekend but it's not going to happen. I'm now hoping for next weekend for that. Secondly, sorry for neglecting this one! It is still open, as is **_**slightly**_**, but I have had no time to write anything for a while.**

**Anyhow, prompts came in from Countrygrl and I do so love a new reader! (Though I also love my old readers too; they feel like old friends now.) These are from Radiohead. The first because CountryGrl likes the title, and the second because it was a track on the first mix-tape I got from my first boyfriend. Yes, mix-**_**tape**_**. I am that old.**

Weird Fishes

John had bought the fish tank. He hadn't given any warning or offered any explanation. Sherlock just arrived home one day to find a tank full of fish in the middle of the desk. John had been reading on the sofa, trying to look innocent.

They continued not to mention the sudden addition to the flat for the next few weeks. Occasionally John fed the fish, almost daring Sherlock to make some comment.

Sherlock refused to, partly for the game, but partly because liked them. He found he enjoyed watching them while his thoughts swam and danced around his head.


	35. Karma Police

Karma Police

"What goes around comes around. That's all I'm saying."

"How very imaginative of you."

"It will! You wait and see. You think you're all very clever but you'll be laughing on the other side of your face soon."

"Is this because I didn't share?"

"Nope."

"It is, isn't it?"

"No. It's because you think you're immune from retribution. And you're not."

"I am from Mrs Hudson. She loves me."

"Not that much."

"Enough though. She'll be pleased that I ate it."

"Really? The whole cake? Well, she's coming in now, so we'll see."

"What! Now? Help me hide the tin!"


	36. Ashes to Ashes

**Prompts from Staceuo, songs from David Bowie.**

Ashes to Ashes

Sherlock was bored. His black suit was uncomfortable and his tie was strangling him. The service had been religious and therefore a waste of time and energy. The waiting by the grave had made him cold and wet. He resented Mrs Hudson for telling him that he had to be here.

Finally it was over. He lingered at the back of the crowd while John went forward to put pointless flowers on the stupid coffin.

When John returned he looked drained and shaken. He sighed.

"Thanks for coming with me today."

Sherlock nodded. "It's fine. It's no problem at all."


	37. Sound and Vision

Sound and Vision

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it won't fit in the flat."

"It's not that big."

"It's four foot across."

"You exaggerate."

"No. It's too big."

"What about this one?"

"We don't need a 3D TV. I'll buy this one."

"That's tiny! It's not even widescreen!"

"It will suffice."

"No it won't! OK, a compromise, this one. High definition, widescreen, but not huge, and not 3D."

"Why do I need to compromise when I'm paying for the damned thing?"

"Because if you hadn't shot the old TV, we wouldn't need a new one. So shut up and get your wallet out."


	38. Jaws

Jaws.

"This is a stupid film."

"It's not a stupid film! It's one of the best films ever made!"

"It's stupid. You know sharks don't behave like that, don't you?"

"That's not the point."

"What is the point?"

"Shut up and watch it. Or just shut up."

"This is a _really_ stupid film."

"Shut up."

"That is not the correct way to autopsy a shark."

"Performed many shark autopsies, have you?"

"Dull, dull, dull… and the music clearly means there's going to be… shit! God!"

"Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sitting here. You're squashing me."

"Sorry."

"Could you maybe get off me?"

"No."


	39. Lazy Day

**Hello, -Totally-T3ii3, I have not been ignoring your prompts! Here are two of them.**

Lazy Day

Sherlock switched off. Today, he'd been told to rest. No working, no getting bored, no experiments, no _thinking, _and no annoying John.

Complete rest, John had said. John didn't think he could do it. John could not be more wrong. Sherlock had decided to obey him to the letter.

He allowed himself to breathe for purely practical reasons.

After twenty minutes, he was forced to scratch his nose. He sighed. He silently cursed himself for sighing.

John appeared, looked at him and _smirked._ Sherlock scowled. He decided that 'not annoying John' was significantly more work than 'annoying John.'

He grinned.


	40. Fckin' Perfect

F*ckin' Perfect

"What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing!"

"No, you're clearly in an excellent mood."

"Why? Do you have the monopoly for foul moods?"

"No. I'm just preparing for the explosion."

"Shut up! Have you left any milk?"

"There are two pints in the fridge."

"Is there any bread?"

"New loaf in the breadbox."

"Sugar?"

"You don't take sugar, but the jar is half full."

"Did you use all the hot water?"

"No. Should be enough for a bath."

"Oh. OK then. Thanks"

"It's fine. Oh, council tax has gone up by three pence."

"Oh well that's just perfect!"

"And there it is."


	41. I Want To Ride My Bicycle

I want to ride my bicycle.

"Don't let go."

"I'm not going to. Now put your foot on the pedal. Good. Now kick off with the other foot."

"No."

"What do you mean?"

"If I kick with my left foot, while pushing down with my right, the bike will keel over to the right."

"No, then you push with your left foot. It balances it."

"OK. Don't let go."

"I won't. Go on."

"OK. No! Stop! Shit! Ow!"

"You were supposed to make it balance!"

"You weren't supposed to let go!"

"You're heavy! Seriously, how did you not learn to do this when you were five?"


	42. Knock Four Times

**Prompt from Cliocat, the band is Chameleon Circuit.**

**And for all my talk of writing for everything, I've actually started on the novel, so updated none of my fanfic this week! Apologies. **

Knock Four Times

"Did you fall down? Did you hit your head and get amnesia?"

"Nope."

"Then I don't understand why you didn't respond to the signal!"

"Really?"

"I knocked! I knocked four times! Did you hear me?"

"Yep."

"You were supposed to come and remove me!"

"Rescue you."

"_Remove_ me to get on with the case!"

"Maybe I wasn't inclined to rescue you on this occasion."

"_Remove_ me. And why not?"

"Because you were being a patronising git."

"I was not!"

"Maybe I had other things to do."

"Like what?"

"Well, while rescuing you from the party, I noticed this girl…"

"John!"


	43. Football Song

**A prompt from someone, and I can't find it again! If it was you, thank you!**

Football Song.

"So, in a minute, the game will start?"

"Yes. Look, here we go."

"And now we cheer?"

"Yes. Or groan, depending."

"And our team are the ones in blue are they?"

"Red."

"OK. And this goes on and on for an hour and a half?"

"Probably for two hours with the half-time break and any extra time."

"Two hours you say."

"Yes. Are you now thinking of all the things you could do in two hours."

"Yes."

"It's your research."

"I'm not compl… Oh! Look at that! A goal! A beautiful, beautiful goal! Fantastic!"

"Yep."

"Only two hours you say?"

**(Novel update – draft 1 is finished, working through edits for draft 2 now, so still have no time to breathe! But no, I have not left the fandom! Pip xxx)**


	44. With an L

**It may not be a strictly 100 word drabble, but I liked the idea and I can't fit it anywhere else.**

With an 'L', dammit!

The young, frazzled receptionist stood behind a table covered with brochures and leaflets. Her day suddenly got a little worse.

"The name's Sherlock Holmes."

"I'm sorry, Charlotte…?"

"No, not Charlotte, Sherlock!"

"Char… lock?"

"No, not Charlock! Sherlock! S-H-E-R-L-O-C-K!"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I'll say it slowly while you write it down, shall I? S. H. E. R. L – no, it's the same word, L. O. C. K. Well done."

"Thank you. And your first name?"

"That is my first name! The surname is Holmes! No, not Homes, _Holmes_! With an L! No, H-O-L-M-E-S! Good! Sherlock Holmes! Profession: Consulting detect… Oh never mind, just write PI!"

Her hands shook as she handed the name badge over to him. He stalked off.

"My name's John Watson."

"Oh thank God."


	45. Better Days

**I am stuck, in a writing malaise at the moment, so I thought I'd try and break it with a couple of drabbles. So these are a prompt just from me, just because I've been in a Kinks mood of late.**

Better days

John glanced across at Sherlock, slouched in his armchair, staring at the dying embers of the fire, lips pouting, two fingers on the right hand twitching, but otherwise completely still. He hadn't spoken for five hours and twenty-three minutes, and then it was a muttered thanks for a cup of tea.

He'd played the violin until the restrained time of midnight, but then blown up the microwave at three.

He'd left an arm in the fridge, and it had leaked all over John's cheese.

He'd flooded the bathroom. Twice.

Yes, John thought. Still better alive, annoying and _here_, than dead.


	46. Wonderboy

Wonderboy

"… Then I demonstrated that the lipstick on the tip matched Karen's, and not Mummy's, and that was the end of that nanny."

"How old were you?"

"Four."

"I think I'd hate being your parent. Or your nanny."

"Mycroft was furious. He'd been pinching cigarettes from her for weeks."

"Mycroft doesn't smoke!"

"No, of course not, John. He just carries a pack of cigarettes around in case I'm having a really bad day. He gave me my first taste. My nicotine addiction is his fault."

"Has he tried stopping?"

"Fourteen times to my twelve."

"I see. It's a competition."

"Naturally."

**(Yes, according to this, Mycroft started smoking at ten or eleven. I reckon he was that sort of child. Thinking about it, that's probably why the Holmes parents wanted a Nanny who didn't smoke.)**


End file.
